


Explanations

by exklusiv



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Expressive elf ears, F/M, Fenris is bad at flirting, Mentions of Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exklusiv/pseuds/exklusiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varania has the chance to explain herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Explanations

**Author's Note:**

> A small bit of canon non-compliance (if you subscribe that Fenris is, in fact, from Seheron), and a little bit of my own canon explaining, since where the hell did Varania even go. Enjoy!

“You’re sure it’s her, Merrill?”

“Oh, very much so! She came up to me in the market and asked if I knew the Champion of Kirkwall, and when I said yes, she began pestering me with all sorts of questions! I tried to answer them but really they were a lot of things I couldn’t answer. She seemed pleasant enough, though, so I can’t imagine what kind of terrible thing she might have planned.”

“I don’t think she has anything horrible planned,” Hawke replied easily, walking down the steps into the alienage with Merrill by her side. “I just think it’s better to be cautious. We don’t know, after all. Just keep an eye out for scary men in helmets who are not Templars or city guards and if they go into the house, come inside and blood magic them away.”

“But I wouldn’t use it for—right, not literally. Creators, I’ll get it one day. Anyway, yes, I’ll keep an eye out. That door is hers, right there.”

“Thanks again, Merrill.” Hawke waved off her Dalish friend and walked to the door Merill had pointed her towards. Without a single hesitation, Hawke rapped on the wood, waiting patiently. After a moment, the door opened and an elf with flaming red hair looked out at her.

“You… are here.”

“I am here,” Hawke said, smiling. “Varania, right?”

“I… yes. And you’re the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Please, call me Hawke.”

“Of course. Would you… like to come in?”

“I’d be honored,” Hawke said, stepping into the threshold of the little house. The houses in the alienage were not clean and generally in states of disrepair, but Varania had done her best to make it look presentable. Timidly, Varania closed the door and ushered Hawke inside with the downcast eyes and timid hands of a former slave. Hawke sat down on the chair Varania offered and waited for the elf to stop pacing nervously.

“The more I think about this, the more I think I shouldn’t have asked you here. I can’t imagine at all why you’d want to speak with me. Asking you here was a mistake, I apologize for wasting your time.”

Hawke held a hand up. “If I’m ever inclined to not do something, I will pointedly not do it. I have actually been meaning to seek you out, speak with you. You saved me the trouble of asking Varric for a favor.”

Varania sat down across from Hawke, still looking unsure of herself. She twiddled her thumbs and refused to meet Hawke’s gaze. “I have to admit, I’m a bit surprised by your name. Hawke. Is it a Free Marcher name?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was born in Ferelden,” Hawke joked. “My surname is Hawke. My first name is Gry. But the only person who calls me that anymore is Anders, and that’s only if he really needs to scold me for something. I prefer to be called Hawke.”

“Anders?”

“That snotty mage that called Fenris a jealous hypocrite in The Hanged Man,” Hawke supplied. “Oftentimes tactless, a little misguided, single-minded, and unfortunately, my best friend.”

“You do not like that he is your friend?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love him dearly. I wouldn’t trade him for the world. But he’s still an ass sometimes.”

Varania nodded. She was quiet for another moment, then she looked up at Hawke, her ears tilted up. “I feel like I owe you an explanation as to why I brought Danarius with me when I came to meet Leto.”

“An explanation would be nice, but it’s not necessary. Not for me, anyway. But if you think it will make things better, feel free.”

“My mother had been born a slave, like Leto and I. Oh, er… should I refer to the name Danarius gave him? I want no confusion.”

“No, Leto works fine. I’ll know who you mean.”

With a quick nod, Varania continued. “The magister who owned our mother, and, by that virtue, owned us, had little interest in owning slaves for the sake of owning them. He had them, but he treated us like servants, though he was still a blood mage, and kept so many on hand in case he needed blood for his spells. Leto and I owed him no particular allegiance, but we were still bound to him. We were allowed to hone a skill we enjoyed. I chose fabrics, and Leto chose the sword.”

“He mentioned you were a tailor.”

Varania nodded. “A simple tailor, but a tailor nonetheless. Would you like a cup of tea, messere Hawke?”

“No, thank you, Varania. There’s no need to fuss over me.”

“Of course, forgive me. I just… old habits, I guess.” Varania twisted her hands nervously, ears pulled back. “I wish I could properly justify my actions.”

“You mentioned that Fenris competed for his markings, before,” Hawke said, leaning forward. “Was Danarius your master then, too?”

“No,” Varania said, shaking her head. “Danarius was not our master. But he was a wealthy, influential magister. He was looking for a bodyguard, one with skill, that he would not have to worry about. So, he held his competition, open to any slave of his associates. Of course, the other magisters were irate, but he promised to pay double their worth upon their winning. So, they allowed it. The winner, upon selling himself to Danarius, would be allowed a boon to use as he pleased, before… before the markings were put in him. Leto asked if he could use it to free me and our mother, and Danarius said he could.”

Hawke listened intently as Varania told her side of the events Fenris couldn’t remember. “Leto fought hard and his win was well-deserved. Mother had begged him not to put himself through the tournament, but he wanted a better life for her, a life where neither I or Mother had to call anyone ‘master.’ When Leto won, he demanded we be freed, there on the field. He had been injured and was bleeding, but he refused to move until the coin he’d won had been put in our master’s hands, ensuring our freedom. It was done, and we were sent on our way. Leto was rushed off so fast, he didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Varania paused, taking in a deep breath. She looked older than her years, tired and worried. Hawke wanted to comfort her.

“Leto was a child, had no idea what he was offering. We’d all heard whisperings of the magister Danarius and the things he did to his slaves on a whim, and Mother and I were scared sick for him. A boy of seventeen, willingly selling himself to a wicked magister for the freedom of his sister and mother.”

Hawke’s eyes went wide. “He was seventeen when he gave himself to Danarius?”

“So young, with such promise. Dark-haired, like mother, and unusually stubborn.”

Hawke tried to imagine Fenris with black hair, and came up empty. His white hair suited him so much she had a difficult time picturing anything else. “Did the lyrium turn Fenris’ hair white?”

“That’s what I would venture.”

“So, Fenris sold himself to free the both of you. It’s a worthy tale, but it still doesn’t tell me why you were going to give him back to Danarius.”

“What you must understand, Hawke,” Varania said, her shoulders slumping miserably. “Is that there is a strict social system in Tevinter. If you were a slave, your lot in life after you’ve been freed is barely any better. Freed slaves are part of a social class called Liberati. In this class, you are not considered a citizen, and have limited rights. You are basically property without an owner. In the Liberati, you may own property and become an apprentice, but the people still treat you horribly. We had no master, but we did not have freedom.”

“But you were a mage in a land ruled by magisters. Surely there was a way you could have made life better for yourself.”

Varania smiled, more out of pity than amusement. “I am not so like you, Champion of Kirkwall. I had a mother to care for, and I had never been properly trained in the arts. I found myself a tailor to apprentice myself to and I went from there. My mother died right before the news that Leto had fled Danarius’ services came to Minrathous. The magister came back without his distinct bodyguard, and word spread quickly. I’d already lost my brother, just lost my mother, so I decided life was better elsewhere. I offered my services to a magister in Qarinus and he took me.”

“I’m the last person who would ever advocate for joining the Circle, but don’t those exist in Tevinter as well? Couldn’t you have gone to one of the Circles and learned magic?”

“I could have, and my mother certainly encouraged. But life for an elf in the Imperium is difficult even with the gift of magic. I see here that the elves in your home are not so better off. What would going to the Circle accomplish for me, when I had an ailing mother to look after, except to give me nicer clothes and a better control of the fire I would summon to warm our home?”

Hawke looked at her knees. “I guess I can understand that.”

“When Leto contacted me… I don’t know,” Varania said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t know what to think. I’d crossed paths with him once or twice in the Imperium, and he hadn’t recognized me. I had called his name and he hadn’t given me a glance. I had lived years believing that my brother had just chosen to ignore his old life, to forget that he had family in a low social class, to turn his back on us. Even though he’d said in his letters that he couldn’t remember his life before, I still felt… bitter. Angry that someone who had fought so hard for us could just reject us.”

Hawke wanted to reach out and comfort Varania, but didn’t have any idea how to do it, so she settled for a sympathetic look. Varania shrugged. “I should have known that Danarius would have done something like completely erase Leto’s memory. Danarius was of the school of thought that if he was going to put so much coin into something, it was going to be only his. Having a slave that is constantly thinking of his family and the people he loved would be counterproductive. He needed him focused and completely dependent. I see that now. But, at the time…”

“That’s not something you can blame yourself for, Varania,” Hawke said, gesturing to the elf. “You would have had no idea. And it’s not like you could have just requested to go see him.”

“I know I shouldn’t blame myself. It doesn’t mean I don’t blame myself any less.”

Varania’s words made Hawke imagine her family, how they’d been lost. Bethany defending them, Carver fighting with the Grey Wardens, Leandra desecrated by a madman. Nothing had been all her blame, but she carried the weight anyway. “I think I know what you mean.”

“And that, Hawke,” Varania finally said, leaning back in her chair. “Was why I let Danarius come with me to Kirkwall.”

“You were angry that he was trying to come back to you after such a long time?”

“That, and I was still angry that he hadn’t spoken to me in seven years before he ran from the magister’s side. I had moved to Qarinus for some time, to work for a magister, but Minrathous was my home, and I knew a few places I could find a job where I was not a servant. Danarius frequented the tailor I apprenticed under, and he’d received word that I’d gotten a letter from an elf in the Free Marches named Fenris. I had no intention of going to see him, no desire to, and then Danarius came to the shop and offered me something big.”

“The chance to be a magister.”

Varania nodded, looking meek. “I should have told him no, I see that now. But being a magister meant being able to finally come out of the low world I’d been born into, to chance to increase my status not only as a mage, but as an elf. And I was still so angry with Leto. Why shouldn’t I go and help Danarius get back his property? He seemed, after all, more pleased to be with Danarius than he had been with me.”

Like she was uncomfortable being still, Varania stood and began slowly pacing behind her chair, her hands clasped in front of her. “It wasn’t until we were on the boat that I heard Danarius mention something about cleaning Leto’s mind again. How the things he had learned in his time away had to be removed. And that’s when I knew that I’d made a terrible mistake, that I was taking the freedom he had always wanted away from him. It was too late at this point, but the guilt ate at me all the way from Minrathous.”

“I don’t think Danarius goes around announcing that he wipes memories. You couldn’t have known.”

“Your insistence that I am not in the wrong here is admirable, but misplaced. I’ve made mistakes in my life, and I must live with them. I must thank you, however, for not letting Leto… for saving me.”

“You are his sister,” Hawke said simply. “He would have reveled to do it then, but I’ve lost both a brother and sister to some form of darkspawn. I know that loss. I know that, eventually, it would have killed him.”

“Did you lose your siblings in the Blight?”

“Yes and no,” Hawke replied, crossing her arms. “My sister died while we ran from Lothering. My brother was given to the Grey Wardens when we ventured into the Deep Roads so his life might be saved. It was, but now I never see him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hawke said, holding up a hand. “I’ve mostly made peace with it. Carver is doing something good for the first time in his life, and I’m proud of him for that.”

“Now that I think about it, Leto is doing something good, too. Better than he could ever do.”

Hawke smiled. “All while raging about magisters and glowering at every mage in existence.”

The corner of Varania’s mouth quirked up; it stunned Hawke to realize how much she looked like Fenris. “All but one, I would wager.”

Despite herself, Hawke looked down at her knees bashfully. “Well, when a fugitive elf hires a cover so you can help him go and murder his former master, a girl can’t help but swoon.”

“He did always have a certain flair with women,” Varania said, putting a hand on her hip. “Had a trail of girls following him around since he could swing a sword.”

“Please tell me that he wasn’t suave, because I won’t be able to take it.”

“Suave? Leto?” Varania laughed. “Awkward and incompetent, mostly. Flirting left him tongue-tied and falling over. I think it made the girls try even harder. It was endearing, I’m told.”

Hawke put a hand on her heart. “Oh, thank the Maker, I was so worried age had made him hopeless.”

“What sort of hopeless?”

“I called him handsome and he laughed, then cleared his throat and blushed like nothing had happened.”

Varania nodded resolutely. “Sounds exactly like my little brother. Maker, I miss him.”

“You know, Varania,” Hawke said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “Leto is gone.”

“I know that.”

“But Fenris is still here.”

Varania met Hawke’s gaze, her green eyes just as intense as Fenris’. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Whatever was left of Leto was destroyed when Danarius put the lyrium in his skin. But Fenris? Fenris is here.”

“What worthiness do I have of finding a relationship there?”

“I can persuade Fenris to aid mages and slay Templars,” Hawke said simply, shrugging. “I’m sure, given enough time, I can persuade him to talk to the sister that came with a magister.”

Hawke stood from her chair as Varania contemplated her hands, as if they would provide her better answers. With a smile, Hawke placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to him for you, I promise.”

“I appreciate that, but you needn’t put so much effort into it for just me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hawke smiled. “That elf that’s here in the alienage, dark hair, Dalish face tattoos, the one you chased down to get to me? Her name is Merrill. She’s a sweetheart. If you ever feel lonely, go and seek her out. She’d be more than happy to spend time with you.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Champion.” Varania cleared her throat, then looked at Hawke. “Would… would you do something for me?”

“Of course.”

“If you cannot convince Le— Fenris. If you cannot convince Fenris to speak with me, will you at least promise to make him hear me just once? I never… thanked him, for what he did. For freeing me and Mother. And I realize now what kind of sacrifices he made to get that. I’d want no more of his time after that.”

“I’m sure I can make it happen. Take care of yourself, Varania.”

“You as well, Hawke.”

* * *

Hawke found Fenris in his mansion as the sun was threatening to dip below the horizon, propped against his headboard with a bottle of wine on the floor next to him and a book in his hands. He was shirtless and relaxed. Fenris spared her a glance, then turned back to his book.

“Your day was pleasant?” Fenris asked, turning a page. Hawke felt a swell of pride in her heart at how good Fenris had gotten at reading.

“Exceptionally so. The alienage is always so welcoming of the Champion.”

“I want to believe that is sarcastic but something tells me that you actually did have a good day.”

“Mark your place,” Hawke said, pulling off the sharp metal on her outfit, setting it on the nearby armchair. Dutifully, Fenris dog-eared the corner of the page and set his book aside as Hawke climbed onto the bed and sat astride him, leaning her weight on him and smiling. Without any preamble, Hawke pressed her mouth to his, running her hands through his white hair and holding him close. He tasted like spice and wine, as he always did, and his arms came around her immediately.

“Is there an occasion I missed?” Fenris asked when Hawke finally pulled back, his ears burning and perked up.

“None at all. I’ve just found myself overcome with the need to be near you.”

Fenris smiled. “Something I’ve never objected to.”

“Never?”

“We don’t talk about that,” Fenris said simply, pushing Hawke backwards and readjusting so he hovered over her. “Do _you_ object?”

“Not at all.”

As Fenris slanted his mouth against Hawke’s again, pressing his lean body against hers, she couldn’t help but think that she was the luckiest person on earth, to have fallen in love with someone who had had so much taken from him and still gave selflessly. The brother that had sold himself to buy his mother and sister’s freedom, the fugitive that had given a stranger every coin he possessed to pay a person who helped him, the man that scraped together coin and what little influence he had to reconnect with his estranged sister.

The man that had given his heart to Hawke and expected nothing in return.

Such a man, Hawke thought, was priceless.

**Author's Note:**

> I really get Fenris. The way he holds onto grudges is astounding. He's like a bitter role model.


End file.
